


Generic Post The End Angst Fic

by KZDipped



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Implications of suicide, Not Really?, Swearing, but heck I've wanted to do one of these forever, suicide?, this is the most cliche plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KZDipped/pseuds/KZDipped
Summary: You've all seen one of these before and enjoyed it now enjoy this one.Requested by flight-of-the-sacred-eagle!





	

_Drink. Sober up. Repeat._

Tom had a pattern now, a comfortable pattern. He would wake up, rescue himself from whatever strange position he had fallen unconscious in, get food and take something for his constant hangover, check in with Edd and Matt, then drink himself away again. It was more convenient now that they were in the apartments; it was a lot harder for him to wander outside and get in trouble. At least in the building there were only so many dangers; the stairs, he supposed, or the roof if he made it up there. But most nights he didn’t make it out of his apartment, drunkenly tripping over a pile of dirty laundry or the gun he never seemed to put away and deciding that the floor was more comfortable than standing up anyway.

Edd and Matt had noticed the pattern; it was concerning, but they were all coping in their own ways. Edd was hardly sleeping at this point; he’d rather be tired than deal with the nightmares, and when he did collapse from exhaustion, it was a dreamless peaceful slumber. Sometimes he would check in on Tom during one of these nights, making sure he wasn’t doing anything too stupid and make him more comfortable. Matt meanwhile, did what he did best; ignore the problem simply by forgetting about it. If anything reminded him too clearly of the events of a month ago, he’d drop whatever it was and move on with his day. He was in charge of making sure the entire group ate properly; Edd was more concerned with the others than himself, and Tom was beyond caring. So Matt became a sort of coach for the trios dietary habits, reminding Edd when it was probably time for a meal, and coaxing Tom into eating anything of substance.

Tom meanwhile, didn’t care. Or rather, he told himself that was why he drank so much, he just couldn’t see a reason not to. ~~It wasn’t because of the guilt.~~ Regardless, when Edd brought it up (on multiple occasions), he brushed it off with humour, remarks about him “picking his poison”, but nothing addressing the actual problem. Edd realized at some point talking to Tom was fruitless, as was taking away his alcohol; no matter if he hid Tom’s flask or whatever bottles were lying around, Tom managed to find some way to get wasted. For lack of other options, Edd decided to let Tom tire himself out with this; he had gone through phases like this before, he always cut back eventually, and Edd would be here for him in the meantime.

So, probably a month and a half or so after their move, Tom found himself with a half-empty flask and no bottles in any of his usual hiding places. He decided, begrudgingly, that he’d have to make a late night trip to the liquor store. It didn't cross his mind that he could go without the alcohol for the night. He pulled his hoodie on (he hadn’t been wearing it as of late) and headed out, passing Edd and Matt’s already closed doors.

The streets were quiet, which Tom was grateful for; he had never really liked the experience of being surrounded by people, now more than ever. The what might be considered eery silence was comforting to him. A few cars rolled past, as he drank the last of the Smirnoff still in his possession. The buzz was nice, but not nearly enough to keep him from thinking.

It was nearly eleven, but the store was still open, much to Tom’s appreciation. He purchased one bottle, plenty until he could come back tomorrow, and brought it outside, transferring a good portion into his flask and storing the bottle in his pocket. He took a swig, then another, and before he was really aware of it the flask was empty again.

A sarcastic laugh left his lips; he filled it again, starting back toward the apartments. He couldn’t see the building for some reason- must be just around the corner. Another laugh; it’d be just like him to get lost, just another joke on his already screwed over life.

Another drink, and he stumbled; this was faster than he usually lost control, but already everything was getting fuzzy. He stepped up the pace, rushing forward to where the apartments must certainly be-

A sudden cacophony of noise startled him; he was pushed forward, a rush of air behind him, and whatever had tugged him falling with him; he got an impression of black and maybe red, before it was gone.

Another shout, and this time someone in green was helping him up, scolding him about not checking the street for cars, and if it hadn’t been for that stranger… Tom zoned out, suddenly tired, exhausted actually, and too out of it to consider what had just happened.

Edd scolded him the next morning, all about the dangers of drinking while he was out near the street, and Tom listened. Edd was upset about it, so Tom listened, because Edd mattered to him. He promised not to go out so late again, that if he was going to drink himself to oblivion he would make sure he had what he wanted first. Edd seemed satisfied, if not frustrated still; but it was the best Tom thought he could do at this point.

That night he grabbed a bottle, but before he became even slightly light-headed, he decided a change of scenery would do him good. He took the bottle with him, telling himself he wouldn’t start drinking until he got back, and took the stairs up to the roof.

Of course, the lights from the city put a bit of a damper on his plans, but regardless he took a slumped seat against the short wall surrounding the edge and gazed up at what stars were visible. He had loved stargazing, ever since he was little; but he hadn’t done it as of late, for several reasons. There seemed to be even fewer specks of light than he remembered; figures. What a sense of irony.

Tom took a drink out of the bottle without thinking; he thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, taking another before capping the glass and setting it to the side. He’d be fine, he’s always fine, why should that change now? He stared up at the sky for a few more minutes, tracing out what constellations he knew methodically, until he suddenly felt the urge to do something, anything.

He stood up, a little shakily; the lights from the streets and businesses below illuminated him just slightly, as he took yet another mouthful. He looked down, and realized; he wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t come up here for months because he was afraid of what he might do, and yet now… he wasn’t. He didn’t feel anything.

A bitter chuckle escaped him; of course. That last thing that made him react with any kind of emotion would leave to. In a moment of epic, incredible stupidity and frustration, Tom had an idea; clutching the bottle of Smirnoff tightly in one fist, he stepped up onto the wall, first one foot, then the other; a few cars sped below, and Tom felt a small thrill of adrenaline. Chasing the sensation, he took a step along the ledge; when he didn’t immediately fall, he continued, walking along the edge with both arms extended, liquid sloshing to and fro in the bottle, mimicking the back and forth movement.

The feeling of fight or flight quickly subsided, and in attempt to bring back the rush, Tom closed his eyes, continuing along. One foot in front of the other, then a near slip; but nothing happened, and he kept going.

A shout from the side made him open his eyes; something wrenched him back onto the roof, grabbing his hood and brushing against his neck uncomfortably, making him drop the bottle over the edge to smash on the pavement far below. He crashed into the synthetic concrete, a slurred curse erupting from his mouth. “You stupid vitne! What were you thinking?!”

Tom pushed himself up, glaring at the figure standing over him fuzzily. “I wasn’t doing anything.” He tried to stand, but wobbled, so settled on sitting cross-legged. He looked at the figure blearily, trying to discern who exactly it was interfering. It only took him a second to put two and two together, between the spiked hair and the accent, and he groaned. “What the hell do you want commie?”

“For you to stop trying to kill yourself, for starters! Svarte helvete Thomas!” Tord paced to the side, hands shoved in his pockets and left side facing Tom.

“I am not.”

“Well you’re certainly not trying to prevent it! Two nights in a row I’ve had to step in, and that’s not even counting the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed.”

“What, have you been stalking us? Ruining our lives once wasn’t enough for you?” Tom knew he should be angrier than he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to that; instead he found himself wishing he had put his flask in his pocket as well.

“You must think I’m stupid, of course I’d put surveillance on the few people who have come close to stopping me.” Tord had stopped moving, standing near another ledge and looking out on the city. “Last night was just lucky, but today was intentional. Why on earth would you do that?”

Tom shrugged. “I felt like it. Nothing bad was going to happen.”

“And if something had?”

“Stop changing the subject, asshole. What are you doing here anyway? Thought you were dead, after that robot blew up.”

Tord hesitated, as though thinking over the answer. “Obviously not. You should aim better.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Tom could feel himself getting drowsy; you’d think it would take more alcohol to knock him out, not the other way around. Or maybe he was just tired. It’d been a while. “F-fuck you.”

Tord smirked, coming back over to Tom and kneeling down in front of him. Somewhere in Tom’s sleepy mind registered the fact that Tord’s right side seemed entirely too red; but that didn’t matter at this point. Tord reached around Tom’s neck, peeling off what looked like a medical patch; “Goodnight Thomas.”

A wave of anger swept over Tom; th’ commie thought he could drug him and get away with it, well he’d show him, he’d get up and fight if that’s what he wanted… Fatigue quickly overwhelmed those thoughts, and he slumped forward, quickly losing what little consciousness he still had.

Tom woke up the next morning, in his own bed (for the first time in at least a week). He got up, changing into some fresh clothes; something felt off, although he couldn’t remember what it was. Last night, something had happened last night… but what. That was the question.

He went into the kitchen, grabbing some cereal from the supplies Matt had thankfully stocked; another first out of a long while, he was hungry, actually hungry. He wondered what Matt and Edd were up to today, if they had plans or if they could make some. Going outside felt good, just as eating had.

The three of them ended up going out together, getting swept up in some adventure; they returned happy, excited over whatever had transpired and giddy that they had even survived. They decided to spend the rest of the evening together, for a long due movie night. Edd kept half an eye on Tom; usually when they started talking about evening plans, Tom excused himself, but he made no such move tonight. They stayed up far too late watching random Netflix recommendations, and ended up crashing together on Matt’s couch. No nightmares for Edd, peace of mind for Matt, and for Tom…

~~_Drink. Sober up. Repeat._ ~~


End file.
